Master of Darkness
by Poxy Kirkman
Summary: Sequel to 'Slave to Darkness'. Pitch realised how badly his nightmares can affect people... will he be strong willed enough to change his methods and use fear for the better, and will anything he does redeem him of his past crimes? T for violent themes and language. R
1. Chapter 1

This is the sequel to my story **'Slave to Darkness'** which if you haven't read you'd be best off doing before attempting this one. A few references are made later on that you wouldn't understand otherwise. It's only 12 chapters long :D Not even massively long ones!

Anyways, for my readers, please enjoy. I'm just setting up my OC here.

Also! My story **'The End Of Summer'** is growing ever longer :D please check that out too

Thanks and please review!

* * *

Rebbecca Collins was your average British teenage girl. She was not dazzlingly thin and beautiful, with bright blue eyes and perfectly straight blond hair. She didn't have twenty-twenty vision, and she had the terrible habit of biting her nails, which left them not long and pretty as most girls liked them, but short stubs on her fingers, bitten down as low as she could get them without hurting herself.

Rebbecca was in fact slightly overweight for her five foot eight inches in height. She slouched too, which didn't help her appearance any. She always wore straight leg black or blue jeans, no matter what, and liked to wear hoodies in all colours, because she liked how bright they were. And if people were complimenting her on her choice of hooded jumper, they weren't really looking at her, which is what she liked. Tying too hard to blend into the background had never worked for her. Somebody had always spotted the strange girl in the back of class with the wavy chestnut hair, hazel eyes and crooked glasses that had been dropped one too many times. She found that standing out was the new blending in. It worked. She would never have considered herself ugly, because she wasn't. She just wasn't what she thought any guys' 'first choice' would be. She wasn't the thinnest, she didn't have the biggest boobs, and in all honesty she wasn't going to devote all her attention to some jackass who only wanted to have sex with her, then leave her. So she let the other girls get on batting their eyelids and losing their virginity and getting pregnant to some prick, and she was happy just to immerse herself in a tattered old Harry Potter book and forget the rest of the world. It's what the eighteen year old college girl loved doing. If it wasn't Mr Potter who she was having magical adventures with, it was Peeta and Katniss she was running with, hoping the odds were ever in their favour as they participated in the 74th annual Hunger Games. Or maybe she'd go back a bit further in time and read Sherlock Holmes (she loved Hound of the Baskervilles), of further than that and join Victor Frankenstein in his hunt for the monster he created. Once in a blue moon she would try and read 'Paradise Lost', but the concept was always wasted on her. No matter how hard she tried, she could never understand the book. It was frustrating really.

The bell from the high school next to her college rang and that signified the end of dinner for the nasty little blighters there, and she took her cue to leave to go to her next class too, or her tutor wouldn't be too happy. She was never late to Literature though, so even if she did burst through the door at the last second, Jim wouldn't be angry with her. The American never was angry, he always had a cheerful disposition, and she liked that about him. It was easy to learn in his class, even when half of the students were being disruptive.

"Right, open the books to 'Song of Myself', and we'll read a paragraph each," Jim told the class, and though half of them moaned, Rebbecca thrilled inwardly. She loved Walt Whitman. The American poet was years wiser than his time, calling for equality of genders, races and those with different sexualities. He was a visionary. Of course, he did write about loving a lot of people, and wanting to have sex with a lot of people, but he was a man at the end of the day. The fact that he was so confident in himself to write a poem that started 'I celebrate myself, and I sing myself' just shook her. She wished she could sing herself...

"Becca," came a hiss, while Emma was reading, the chestnut haired girl turned and gave her best friend a lopsided grin. Jessice Shoulds was her best friend, and the only person in the entire college who could spell her name right first time, just by looking at it. The thing about Rebbecca Collins is that her name had an extra 'b' in it which everyone ever thought was a mistake. How stupid could she look when she filled a form in and the person tried handing it back to her telling her she'd spelled her name wrong? The other difference about the two girls is that Becca's best friend was petite and pretty, with bright blue eyes and short, straight blond hair. She had lopsided glasses too, but she was never mocked for hers. Boys loved Jessica Shoulds, and Rebbecca understood why. The girl was nice and polite and funny, whereas she was strange and socially awkward. It was just the way of the world. But Jess never seemed interested in any attention she got from the guys. She was a very shy girl.

"Yeah?" she asked, looking at the blond

"What're you doing this weekend?" she asked, and Rebbecca heaved a sigh.

"Going to Lizzie's nineteenth," she huffed, slouching in her seat. "I promised I would... why?"

"I was going to invite you around to watch Deathly Hallows... why are you even going? Don't you hate her?" her friend asked, blue eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"I don't hate her, I just think she's a bit of a tramp and a harlot," Rebbecca chuckled, as she nudged her glasses up her nose, knocking them askew slightly but not caring as it came time for her paragraph;

"And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,

And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the

women my sisters and lovers,"

… Yeah, maybe Whitman was a bit of a crackpot.

"Why are you going if she's such a harlot?" the blond asked, after stating blatantly to Jim that she felt sick and refused to read, staring it out with the tutor before he gave up and moved on.

"Because, idiot, I promised," the brunette hissed through gritted teeth, averting her eyes as Jim looked over, slightly annoyed, and she kicked her friend under the table and nodded to the middle aged man. "Shh," she added, and the two of them went about their lesson, trying to hide the smirks from their faces as they continued their conversation on paper until class was over. They were walking slowly for the bus, chattering away when the devil herself bounced over.

"Becca!" she cried, completely blanking Jess. "You're coming tonight, right?" she asked, and Becca nodded, faking a smile.

"Yep, I have your card and present here now though, you might as well take them off my hands," she said, finding the hastily wrapped bottle of perfume and the card from inside her bag, pushing other bits of crap aside. She gave them to the 'blond' and smiled.

"Are you doing something with your hair tonight? It's looked really bad all day," Lizzie commented, her smile never fading. "We want it to look great for the pictures, yeah?"

Becca bit her lip at this comment, while Jess snorted dismissively, rolling her eyes.

"Your roots are showing," replied the brunette, and she and Jess marched past the girl to get on the bus, flashing their bus passes before sitting down.

"What a mean-bean," Jess muttered, clutching her bag to her.

"Yeah, I know," Becca grumbled, dropping her own bag on the floor in front of her, and they cast one look between the two of them, before bursting out laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 :D

If you are reading this and have not read the prequel **'Slave to Darkness'** then I'd advise you do that first :) and please review? :3

So I'm actually trying to work on a lot and I have too many ideas for stories really, and it's starting to get silly because I still have assignments to do for my course that I'm STUCK ON!

I am going to try my damn hardest to keep my fanfics up, but until I manage to finish a bit of my assignment I'm not posting again. That goes for my other fic **'The End of Summer' **too.

Thanks everyone!

* * *

He supposed old habits would die hard, and as he slipped out of the shadows of the closet he smirked slightly to himself. Some things never got old, he mused, wandering over to where the six year old slept. He'd been behaving terribly lately, and Pitch new just what would set him straight. As the dream him hit out at his parents (this child's imagination was obviously vivid enough to take control of the dream sand) Pitch influenced it slightly, just a dab of fear here, just a trickle, just something to highlight a fear the boy already had. He was receiving a warning from his mother and father. If he was naughty again, he would be taken away. Of course it was irrational, of course it would never happen, but it would be enough to shock the boy into behaving well. Children were always so impressionable, he thought vaguely to himself, yawning and slinking back into the shadows as the boy started awake, his dream of being left behind shocking him, and Pitch watched as those brown eyes slowly filled with tears, and the boy let out a wail before screaming that he was sorry and running to his parents room.

Job done. One little brat would behave now. Fantastic.

Slipping through the shadows Pitch found himself on the bustling streets of the strip. He'd always been drawn to big party towns, and Vegas was one of them. It was a place of nightmares all done up in glitter, feather boas and twinkling lights. You went to gamble with a hundred dollars and you end up losing your life savings. It was a hard town. People were murdered, people were cruel. Women were raped, he thought with a grimace, remembering his own misdeeds and shaming himself for them. He should never have laid a finger on Sarah... never have taken everything so precious from her and hurt her so badly. He was a man to fear, but he'd gone about it the wrong way. She might still be alive if he'd realised that sooner.

It was then that a scream drew his attention to an alley behind a popular casino, and he strode over briskly, jaw clenched. He turned the corer and saw a drunkard of a man shoving a woman into the wall, sneering at her before he grabbed her purse from her and smacked her across the face, dropping her to the floor as tears rolled down her cheeks.

He couldn't do anything though, he was invisible, he was just a shadow to them...

A shadow.

As the man went to run away Pitch slid into the shadows, and influenced the darkness in the most peculiar of ways. The shadows he was hiding in suddenly lunged out, grabbing hold of the shadow of the drunk man. The bloke went sprawling along the ground, tripped by his own shadow, and he lay there for a moment in a state of shock before he tried to scramble up. But Pitch was too quick, his hand lashing out and grabbing the man's shadow by the arm, pulling back sharply until a resounding snap told him the arm was broken. Maybe this was a little excessive, but it got the job done. The man was far too terrified to take the woman's purse, and he probably wouldn't do something like this again for a long, long time. It was then that Pitch stood from out of the shadows, looking down at his victim who cradled his broke arm before taking off, and he looked to the girl who had been mugged. She was staring through him in amazement, and then slowly she crept from her place against the wall and picked her purse up, looking about her. She paused, looking down at the floor with a small look of gratitude on her face, before looking up again and whispering two words than stunned the Nightmare King completely.

"Thank you."

And with that, she left. It wasn't that Pitch didn't understand the fact that she would be thankful, but it was the mere fact that somebody had said thank you to him – even indirectly as she had done. The main reason he'd helped was because of the guilt wrapped around his heart, as stony cold as it was. A small part of him delighted in the petrified look on the man's face while he dragged him to the ground, snapped his arm like a twig, and watched him run away with his tail between his legs. He did find that the fear he knew these people exhibited was great, it warmed him to his core and made him stronger. It had some contribution as to why he was doing this in the first place. But that thank you... that was more than he ever had received in his known life. It was... different.

Thinking for a moment, he smiled to himself and stepped back into the shadows, before reappearing in his lair. Some of the nightmares were back, after having come from the small trickles of fear he left in children's dreams, but they were much more weary of him. A large black stallion crept up to him, snorting a little and shaking it's mane, and he held out a hand to it, beckoning it forward. It hooves clacked on the stone flooring, and when it was close enough he tangled his fingers into it's sandy mane, holding it close.

"Go to the shadows in alleys, in bedrooms, the back of cars... wherever. You're to stop rapes, murders and muggings. You understand?"

The stallion whinnied, but he did not sound happy. Pitch knew that by preventing such crimes he was reducing the chance nightmares could interfere with dreams, and that would mean they were less powerful, and by power of elimination, he was less powerful. He knew what these creatures of sand were capable of, but as long as he stood firm they couldn't disobey him, lest he would destroy them again. He would keep up the cycle of creating new nightmares after destroying old ones until they were loyal to him, and it wouldn't take long because the others would learn after he destroyed a few of them. They would have to, or they would be destroyed too.

Slowly he made his way over to the globe and looked at the millions of glittering gold lights that were scattered across the surface, tracing his fingers lightly over them, but leaving no impression on them. There was always one that was missing that caught his attention, and he felt his stomach tug at him. One missing from the North Pole, where Sarah had been. Where she should be. Despite everything he had done to her, and despite the fact that her own father had ignored her pleas for help, she always believed in the Guardians, always believed that they would help her and bring some normality back to her life. He'd seen that light of belief shine brightest within her in her final moments, and it was saddest, because though she took that last shuddering breath in her fathers' arms, the light within her didn't burn out for another few moments. It was the thread of hope that she had clung to her entire life, the one she would not let break, would not let him break in order to break her soul and spirit. He'd never had her obedience completely, she had always had that will in her to escape, through fighting back or through death, she had always willed to leave quickly. He imagined if she'd had the chance to escape his clutches sooner he wouldn't have been able to see for dust.

Sighing, his anger with himself building up as bile in his throat, he slammed his fist into the nearest wall, his golden eyes shut tight and scrunched up, trying to rid the image of those shining blue eyes from his mind. With one last bitter thought, he reminded himself how they shone no more, and he shoved past the nightmares who had gathered, sensing his frustration, to his chambers at the back of the cavern where he dropped on the plush black couch, cursing himself.

Thinking about his plan, he wondered if it would be enough to redeem himself. If this kind of reformation was enough. He had been the cause of a death. Well, he had been the cause of many deaths, he had lived through the dark ages where a hint was enough to put someone to the pyre. But now, he had caused the death of the only person in the world who had tried to help him, who had some inkling of what it was like to be abandoned... because of him, she had died.

He knew the Guardians would hate him as long as they all lived, which would be an awfully long time... but he had never really been concerned about them, never cared about what they thought.

But would be ever be able to find another soul on the earth that could forgive him his crimes?

As he cast his golden eyes to the fire, watched it crackle and glow, he shook his head, slouching back into the couch and closing his eyes, trying to block out a migraine that had just started.

He wouldn't bet on it.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys :)

If you're reading this you need to read **'Slave to Darkness'** first for a little context.

And I'm writing another fic that is BunnyxOC and it's called **'The End of Summer'**

So yeah... enjoy :)

* * *

Looking in the mirror, Rebbecca sighed. She hated the way she looked, all fat and frumpy and grumpy. Smirking slightly at her own inner thoughts she brushed her fingers through her hair. For the party tonight she'd curled it a little, letting the chestnut waves frame her face nicely. She'd abandoned her glasses, perfectly able to see without them, but her lazy eye was more noticeable. She'd had it from birth, the left eye that couldn't be bothered to work properly, turning in slightly towards her nose she she looked a little cross eyed. You wouldn't have been able to tell if you didn't take a close look, but it was always something she was aware of. She liked her eyes though, or the colour of them at least.

They were a hazel colour, but mostly green. Browns were flecked in, hints of amber, and a little blue, but mostly green. And then around the outer side of her iris was a thick ring of silvery grey, making the rest of the colours stand out that little bit more.

She'd not really bothered with make up, just a little concealer and some foundation to even out her complexion, and then she'd found some old mascara, which tried to clump up but she improvised and used an eyebrow brush to comb the clumps out, and the result made her lashes look long and thick and pretty.

She'd found a plain old dress. A black background and then there were thousands of tiny brown and yellow flowers decorating it, so it really looked more like a brown dress than a black one. She slipped a black cardigan on, some thick black tights and a pair of vintage brown heels, and she considered herself in the mirror.

Fat and frumpy and grumpy. Fantastic.

"Dad! I'm off to Lizzie's party now!" she shouted down the stairs before she crept down carefully, scared she'd fall and break her neck. "Can I have twenty quid for some drinks?" she asked, sticking her head through the door to where her father sat watching television. Some programme showing how various things were made, because knowing how they produced stockings was obviously 'all the rage' with the middle aged men.

"I can give you a tenner?" he mumbled, not really looking at her, but at least acknowledging she was there.

"Tenner and you pick me up afterwards?" she compromised, grinning, and he shot her a look then, but nodded, grumbling away.

"Fine, but I'm coming at eleven. I need to be in work tomorrow, remember?"

"Sure thing, love you dad!" she cried, running through to the kitchen, grabbing ten pounds from the top of the microwave and shooting out the back door. She had ten minutes until her bus was there to take her to the next town over, and it was a fifteen minute walk in flat shoes. She'd never make it.

"Should have asked for a lift there too," she mumbled, walking down the street as quickly as she could while taking care not to fall and kill herself. As it so happened, the bus was late, so she just managed to run the last few steps and bang on the door before the driver pulled away so he'd let her on. She paid the fare and sat down near the front. If she sat further back she'd be pestered by some drug addled pervert of a man, and she didn't need that. Within the half hour she'd jumped off the bus, thanked the driver and was walking into the club where Lizzie was celebrating her nineteenth.

"Happy Birthday!" Becca cried, hugging the smaller girl, ignoring how her hair smelled like peroxide while trying to think of something nice to say. "You look nice tonight," she complimented, lying through her teeth. Lizzie was wearing a white dress that barely contained her ample chicken fillets, and only came down to her mid thighs. It was glittery, and tacky, and Becca beamed at her, telling her how lovely it was.

She felt a little guilty though, being so two faced. She had known Lizzie for years, but after a huge argument last year things had been tense between them, and their views of one another had been tainted somewhat. Becca had mainly kept her opinions to herself, turning her cheek at comments and letting it all go over her head, but then Lizzie had changed tactics and spread rumours about how Becca was a slut and had got pregnant but then aborted, which really pissed the brunette off for two reasons. Firstly, she'd never even had sex. She might as well paint a big red V on her forehead to tell everyone she was still a virgin. Secondly, even if she had gotten pregnant, she would never abort a child. It was terrible and immoral and she'd gone home and cried to her mum about it, but her mother hadn't really done anything about it, which was part of the reason she'd gone and moved in with her dad. He wasn't really much better at giving advice, but he at least listened and offered to do something about it, even if it was just talking to others' parents (which she didn't want him to do, because she was eighteen now, not eight).

She supposed the dress wasn't so bad, and she jokingly (not-so-jokingly) tugged it up to cover the girls faux bosom, and grinned.

"You really do look great, but if you don't put those away I'll be all over you before the end of the night."

Both girls burst out laughing, and while it reminded them of when they were inseparable in high school, they realised they'd made their truce, and Becca felt a lot better about being there. She sat with their other friends, and slowly the drinks started rolling in, and they danced and ate cake and watched people fall over, and they sang the happy birthday song to Lizzie, who was almost legless she was that drunk, and Becca held her up so she could blow out the candles.

It was ten o'clock when she started feeling light headed, it was just too warm, so she excused herself and stumbled down the stairs, her mind hazy from the alcohol and the heat. As she wobbled out the door cursing the heels, she felt the cool night air hit her, and she started sobering up right away.

Then somebody grabbed her, and pulled her backwards down an alley. No matter how much she tried to scream and kick he was too strong, and tears pricked her eyes as her shoved her down behind a large metal bin, a flip blade glinting in his hand from the minimal light and she gulped.

"You shut your face and do as you're told... or I'll rip your fucking guts out."

* * *

It had been a mostly quiet night as he wandered through Birmingham city centre. For a Friday, it seemed nothing had gone wrong, and he started to ponder the fact that maybe there was some hope for the human race, but then a loud scream snapped him to attention, and he watched as his nightmare stallion rushed to him, circling quickly before he tangled his fingers in it's mane and he was whisked away, off to Manchester city centre. It was on a line of famous bars, he passed the Hard Rock Cafe and continued down to the bus station, taking a sharp left down to where a little club was. The stallion led him around the back, rushing him, and he felt his heart thudding as he knew he had only seconds.

The scene before him infuriated him.

A girl was being shoved against a wall, and the man before her had one arm pressed tightly against her jugular, leaving her helpless as she couldn't scream out for help, and she couldn't breathe properly, so she was quickly going faint as he started tugging her tights down her leg. She was in her late teens, she was trying to fight him off but was weakening, and her eyes were pleading with her attacker to stop.

Without a second thought he leaned forward and grabbed the man by the hair, ripping him backwards and slamming him into a wall, his hand clenching around his throat tightly, pinning him there, and without a thought Pitch pulled back his free arm and rushed it forwards so his fist connected with the bastards' jaw. It was a blind fury that gripped him. He lost track of the situation, saw sapphire blue eyes wavering before him and when he went to hit again the blue eyes vanished from before him, and he shuddered to a halt, his fist losing momentum half way through he air and he swerved to hit the wall beside the man's head, and he panted, looking at the attacker who he had attacked, saw his face swollen and bloody and bruised and he promptly dropped him, standing back and looking at his hands in shock, wondering how he'd managed to hit like that, his own knuckled cracked and bruised.

There was a small sob behind him, weak and helpless, and slowly Pitch turned around to see the girl curled up against the wall. She'd managed to pull her tights back up and was clutching at the top of her dress where it had been ripped down. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest, as if she were hugging herself, and she was staring at the floor, large tears rolling down her face. Though he had managed to stop the attacker actually raping her, he'd not prevented the initial attack itself... he could feel the fear radiating from her, and slowly he approached, waving away the nightmare that inches closer, nostrils flaring as it smelled the fear and wanted to feed, but with a glare it turned and left, dropping through a grate into the darkness

He crouched before her, slowly lowering himself to his knees, not knowing what to do he lay a hand on her shoulder. He noticed briefly how his fingers were actually able to clasp around her shoulder and not go through her like he wasn't there, but he was more focused on the guilt he felt at not being able to stop her attacker before it actually happened, and he whispered;

"I'm sorry."

He stayed still as she cried silently, and he slowly dropped his eyes to the ground as he tried to think of what he could possibly do now. He supposed he'd stopped the worst of the attack, and he could stop the nightmares plaguing her at night – as best he could anyway, with so many to watch he tended to lose track of one or two. He could still feel her shoulder beneath his hand, and he applied a little pressure and her shoulder was warm and solid, and he looked up quickly to see the girl had raised her head up and was watching him silently. She had a shade of hazel green eyes he'd never seen before, and slowly she shifted herself, wincing in pain as gravel scratched her legs, and she leaned her body into his, her hand reaching up and gripping his arm tightly. Pitch stared down at her, surprised, his golden eyes wide as her lower lip trembled and she began crying again.

But she was pushing her face into his chest, taking comfort from him being there. Though in shock that she could see him and touch him, he wrapped his arms about her shoulders, held her close to him and shushed her, not knowing what else to do. He'd never been fantastic at comforting people, but this seemed to come naturally, seemed the only logical thing to do.

He didn't know how long he knelt with her, rocking slightly and rubbing her upper arm to try and comfort her, but her tears eventually subsided, and she lay against him, quiet and still, her hazel eyes staring ahead blankly as if she were trying to make sense of the situation. Her head tilted up slowly, and she looked into his face, searching him, and she seemed to sense something and pulled away, looking around.

"I n-need to go. My dad's coming soon," she whispered, and she struggled to her feet, smoothing out her dress and ignoring the ladder in her tights down the right leg, and she looked around half heartedly for a missing heel. It was below the large steel bin, Pitch spotted it and pulled it out, holding it out to her.

"You need to tell somebody about this, he needs to be punished," Pitch pressed, standing up himself and towering above her. He was easily six foot seven, she was a good foot shorter than him.

"How can I explain that?" she cried, gesturing to the unconscious and roughed up man slouched against the wall. "I don't want to- to think about i-it," she sobbed, her voice dropped drastically, barely above a whisper as realisation set in and she hugged herself. "I don't wan-want to, I j-just want to go home and- and- and shower."

She was crying again, and he didn't pause to think before he gathered her in his arms and held her close, letting her sob into his chest again. He wondered if him holding her, being so close to her would be bad, thinking about the trauma she'd just suffered... she didn't seem to care though, he could feel she was past caring, and it chilled his blood. Sarah was past caring... look what that got her.

"You tell them you fought back, you get him put away, you get over this," he said quietly, tracing circles into her back, the soft slow motion calming her. "Phone the police now, get them to come here."

"Can't you tell them?" she moaned, her voice tiny.

"They won't be able to see me," Pitch explained, realising how strange that sounded. "You need to do it."

* * *

Her whole body just felt numb, but sore at the same time. Her mind was in pieces, only half an hour before she'd been enjoying a party and had stepped out for some air. Now she was a victim of an attempted rape, had been rescued by a strange man with bright eyes, and he was telling her people wouldn't see him. She didn't understand.

"What?"

The man looked flustered, of nothing else, but he didn't say anything as somebody rounded the corner, coming down the alley towards the steel bin. It was one of the bar tenders, having come out with a rubbish bag, but he took one look at the dishevelled girl and the unconscious man slumped against the wall, and he dropped the bag where he stood. She noticed how his eyes passed right over her rescuer as if he weren't there, and she glanced sideways at him curiously, but she needed to address the matter at hand now.

Her voice still seemed meek and mousy, but she managed to call out to him;

"Help."

* * *

quid = pounds. British currency

legless = basically so drunk, you can't stand. You might as well not have legs. Legless.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi everyone, so I have a poll up on my bio with the titles of three stories I've got ideas for, but can't decide which to do without getting overloaded on all the stuff I have going on. What with this fic, my fic **'The End of Summer'** and my assignments for my teaching course, there's much to do and not enough hours in the day.

The titles are...

**'Broken Heartstrings Bleed The Blues'**

**'Invisible To Him'**

**'Dead Girls In The Leaves'**

So yeah, simple as really... you just pick one you think sounds interesting and vote.

It would be appreciated :)

Enjoy all!

* * *

"You're not in trouble for defending yourself," the police woman told Rebbecca as they dropped her and her father off at home, and he wrapped an arm protectively around his daughter. Becca nodded mutely, rubbing her arms as she looked about at the dim street lights. They were just turning on. It was the day after the attack and the man had been apprehended and locked up awaiting trial. Apparently he was a wanted rapist, and 'her defending herself' had helped bring him to justice. She remembered the man who had been there to save her last night, the one who had held her and comforted her and who told her to take the credit for beating the man unconscious... and he was invisible to the barman, and the police, and her dad when he came to hug her... and that was when he vanished.

"Is he okay though?" she asked meekly, keeping her eyes diverted. "He's not... too bad is he?"

"He's only cut up love, bit of bruising," the policeman told her, looking at his partner. "If you ask me he deserves more... but you did a good job," he chuckled, patting her reassuringly on the arm.

She tried smiling at him, but it looked like an awkward grimace, and she quickly shook her dads arm off from her shoulder and turned to walk up the cul-de-sac to her house, turning sharply at the garden gate and walking through to the side entrance, pulling her keys from her pocket to open the door. Key in, pull the handle, turn, open. The door jammed otherwise. Striding through the back room into the kitchen, she kicked her shoes off by the fridge and dropped her bag on the side by the microwave before going through to the hall and into the living room. Grabbing the remote (or 'clicker' as her dad so affectionately called it) she turned the TV on and turned the channel over to FRIENDS. Joey wasn't sharing food again, and with a small smile the teen eased herself back into the couch and put her feet up, feeling herself slip into a calm place as she settled into some normality. After six hours at the police station picking the man out from a line up and giving her full report on events all she needed was something normal. And Joey Tribiani stealing chocolate cake from a date was about as normal as her Saturday evening was.

She heard her dad come into the living room, and he stood there awkwardly for a moment. She knew he would be angry, not at her, but at the man. She knew he wanted to hurt him, but in all honesty she'd gotten off lightly considering what he'd obviously had in mind. He cleared his throat a little, and she tilted her head back, looking up at him though he seemed upside down now. His brown eyes were filled with concern, and he had his hands shoved in his pockets.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, and she found herself smiling and nodding, her hazel green eyes shining.

"Yeah... make us a brew?" she asked, grinning. "Coffee, two."

"Coffee, two," he repeated dutifully, and she sighed and stretched her legs out, relaxing. He came back through with her coffee minutes later, plus his own, and they started chatting about the promotion he was coming up to getting at work. It wasn't really so much a promotion as just his contract changing with the company he worked for. He installed cable, but right now he was working for a subcontracting company. The main business – Virgin Media – wanted to sign him and all the other one man crews up to their contracts, so he'd be on better pay, better hours, and have more perks on the job.

The night carried on like that. They talked like normal and she found herself relatively happy. They had pizza and she did the dishes, and then she went for a bath.

It was then that she found herself feeling uncomfortable. Sat in the water she was trying to relax... but when she closed her eyes she saw that cold sneer on the man's face, could feel his hand close on her throat and she gasped, before feeling the overwhelming need to clean herself. She felt dirty... she could still feel him on her, his breath lingered about her, his smell was all over her, and she could still feel his eyes on her, and she felt wretched. Grabbing a flannel and a bar of soap, she began cleaning herself furiously, scrubbing at her skin, trying to get _him_ off her. She stayed in the water until it was cold. Until she was shivering and her skin had been rubbed red and raw. She watched as her tears dropped from her nose into the water, creating ripples along the surface, and it took all her strength to pull herself out of the bath and dry herself off, pulling on pyjamas and walking from the bathroom to her bedroom, slouching through it and dropping onto the bed, curling up and closing her eyes, succumbing to sleep.

She dreamed about the man with bright eyes, and she slept peacefully.

* * *

"Jess, I'm fine. Stop worrying about me," Becca protested as she hopped off the bus and walked down the street to college, eyeing her blond friend who jogged to her side.

"I just can't believe you're in, after what happened over the weekend," she said, her voice low, and Becca shrugged a little. "I wouldn't be... I don't know if you're stupid, if you haven't come to terms with it, or if you're brave."

"It could be a mix of the three!" the brunette laughed, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she flashed her ID card to the security guard on the doors, although he looked like he couldn't care less about his job. "Listen, the guy didn't manage to do what he wanted to. I feel a bit... uncomfortable sometimes, but I'm not letting it stop me doing things. And... I need to tell you something."

"What?" Jess asked, her blue eyes widening significantly, and she leaned towards her best friend, eager to hear the news.

"I... I didn't beat the guy up, some other bloke did," Becca explained, and she watched as Jess's mouth dropped open.

"Seriously?" she cried, and Becca had to grab her by the arm and yank her down a less crowded hallway so nobody would hear.

"Yeah... but he just disappeared, I didn't even get chance to thank him. And I couldn't tell the police about him because then they'd be searching for some vigilante that might not even exist!"

"You think it might just have been your subconscious creating the image of a stronger man so that when you did come to realise that you'd beat up your attacker you could shift the blame onto him because in your inner mind you think you should be the victim... kind of thing?"

Becca stared blankly at her friend, and shook her head vigorously to try and gather her thoughts, with a small smile she shook her long chestnut hair out of her face and sighed.

"I hate the fact that you do psychology."

"You love it really," Jess laughed, and they walked down the hall to English together, while chattering away about the Blake poem they had to study over the weekend that neither of them had even looked at. 'London'. It was about how society was being oppressed, and the populace was being forced into conformity. It was like a lot of Blake's poems from his book 'Songs of Experience' and it would only take a quick read through to pull out some metaphors to spew at Jim.

"I don't think he was my imagination though, I just think... I was the only one who could see him," Becca tried to explain, and she tried to ignore the sceptical look Jess was giving her now, turned away from those piercing blue eyes. "When the bartender came around the back, he looked from me to the guy who attacked me... he didn't even see this other guy. He looked right through him."

"You swear?"

"Swear down," the brunette promised, her finger crossing the air in front of her heart.

"That's really weird then..." Jess muttered, sitting down and pulling out her folder, while Becca slapped her Blake book down on the table next to her.

"You believe me then?" she asked quietly, placing both her hands on the desk, lowering herself to her elbows and leaning forward towards her best friend, hazel eyes opened wide and curious.

"Yeah, but I still think it's pretty weird," Jess mumbled, opening the book to 'London' and reading through the first verse. "Reckon 'mind-forged manacles' could be... something important?" she asked, slumping sideways, showing no sign of being interested in the subject at all.

"It's probably a reference to oppressive conditions or thoughts that inhibit free thinking. People in the seventeen hundreds were forced to conform to the rules and regulations of the church and government. That's why... lets see... 'runs in blood down palace walls', that's reference to the French revolution where they beheaded the royal family... Jim told us on Friday, and Blake is suggesting that a revolution might break out in Britain."

There was a stunned silence between the two of them, and Becca grinned at Jess as she took her seat.

"Did you do the poem over the weekend?" the blond asked, staring at the poem incredulously.

"No, just looked at it now, but you know what Blake is like..."

"No, I don't."

"Well you should! You're taking this bloody class," Becca laughed, snorting a little which sent the both of them off into a fit of giggles, which they were told off for as soon as Jim walked in the room and they had to settle down for the class.


	5. Chapter 5

I broke my hand today. My knuckles rather, while I bruised a hella lotta my hand. I was pretending I was North, and I had a wrapping paper tube as a sword, and I was fighting Pitch, and I smacked my hand into the doorframe. Hurts like hell, and this is an update to tell you how I won't be able to post for a while, because unfortunately Pitch won this round.

Cheating barstool. I'll get him next time.

I need time to heal, so yeah... thanks guys :3

I've realised this OC Rebbecca, is like me. She acts like me, talks like me... I have self inserted...

My bad, hope you enjoy anyways.

* * *

"Dad, I'm going out today," Becca called as she raced down the steps, slowing only when she hit the last two steps that turned ninety degrees, where years previous she'd fallen and broken her ankle. She remembered it as clearly as anything... she'd toppled over, after going too fast and twisting her ankle, before she went over and ended up lying on the floor crying and in agony. Her sister had stood there crying too, not knowing what to do. Admittedly she was only nine years old then, and Becca herself was thirteen. She was the one who had to phone her mum and dad to come and help, and she spent six weeks with her foot in a cast afterwards.

"Where are you going?" he asked, looking up from the laptop in the livingroom, at his daughter who stood in the doorway.

"Just into town. I'm getting a haircut and a tattoo."

"Another one?" he asked, his brown eyes narrowing at her. She knew he didn't like tattoos, and she had two already. A phoenix on her back she'd had done as soon as she turned eighteen, which she felt very attached to as it represented her picking herself up from a low point in her life which she was determined to do again now she felt crappy about herself and her situations. Then there was the bow and arrow on her left wrist, which simply stood for her being a Sagittarius.

"Yeah, don't worry dad," she tried to sooth him, as she turned on her heel and went through the kitchen to the back door, slipping her shoes on and pulling a thick, warm jacket about her too. "I'm just cheering myself up!"

"Get a bottle of wine or something then," she heard him call, and she grinned to herself.

"I plan to!"

As she stepped out the door she felt her stomach knot, but carried on. The main reason she was cutting her hair off was because even after a week, she could still smell that bastards breath on her. It was like it was set in each strand and only by cutting it all off would she get rid of the smell no shampoo could. Twenty inches of hair she was cutting away, but she didn't care, because she hoped she'd manage to get rid of the feel of him on her. Biting her lip she feel guilty. She hadn't even been raped, which was his intention... she felt like she was over exaggerating how she felt.

She had nightmares about the man attacking her, and in each one he seemed closer to his goal than the nightmare before, but then she'd see a flicker of bright gold eyes, and the nightmare would melt away, and she felt safe. And it was strange, because something told her she'd seen those eyes before, and it shouldn't be a good thing... she shouldn't feel safe.

After going into town she ended up with pixie short hair and a tattoo over her left collarbone and shoulder. It was a line of poetry, and it hurt like a bitch.

'Hope is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all.'

Beside the quote, upon her shoulder, she had the image of a dove.

And that bottle of wine she'd meant to buy to take home had turned into seeing people she'd known in high school and going to the pub with them. She was walking home down the quiet streets at a little past eleven at night, hands in pockets and eyes cast down as she trudged along, feeling the dull throb over her chest, and her head feeling considerably lighter – both from her losing several pounds worth of hair, and the alcohol had fuzzed her up quite nicely. She knew she should be more careful about herself after what happened last week, but she didn't like sheltering herself away, she preferred to act as usual, because there was no need to become a recluse.

Her phone beeped at her from her bag, and she opened the clutch and dug around inside it looking for the phone as she turned the corner to her street.

* * *

He'd found her so intriguing, yet he also found himself intimidated by the idea of her. She'd seen him... she'd _touched_ him. It was a strange feeling, and he had no idea how to approach the situation, but he found he'd began gravitating around her, he was drawn to her dreams and he'd found himself in her room last night, hovering over her sleeping figure and he recognised the look on her face as the look of a girl who was having a nightmare. The shadows around her seemed thicker, and he sighed a little before sweeping them away, and he'd slowly leaned down and touched his fingers to her forehead.

He saw her dream... unlike others where the dream sand or the nightmare sand would manifest in images above her head, these shadows were part of her life. She'd experienced this darkness, and it was a part of her now, and the scars she had from the experience were hidden to the human eye... but he saw... he knew.

Her nightmare was of the man attacking her, but within seconds of him touching his fingers against her head she'd calmed, and her body eased into a peaceful slumber.

He couldn't stop thinking about how at ease she was with him, and it was disconcerting... he didn't know what to do. So he was wondering the street around the corner from her house, wondering if he should risk going again and being caught, when he felt a large hand grip his shoulder and spin him around, and he was staring into narrowed blue eyes.

"What are you doing?" the large man hissed, and Pitch felt himself gulp nervously before he was even aware he was doing it, and as much as he wanted to melt away into shadows, it would not help him in this situation.

"I was just checking on this girl that was attacked last week..." he tried explaining, but the large Russian made a condescending 'pah' noise at him, making it clear he did not believe the Nightmare King, and the grip on his shoulder tightened.

"You are here to give her nightmares?" he spat, and it was then Pitch became aware of other eyes on him, and his own flickered around. Ice. Mauve. Vibrant Green. Amber. They were all here.

"I'm trying to stop them," he said slowly, breathing deeply, but his heart was hammering away and he couldn't calm himself. Fear was a terrible thing, but it felt more corrupt when you were the one who influenced it, and it turned around and bit you. "I'm making sure she doesn't have bad dreams, I-"

"You're following her and invading her dreams, you're doing the same to her as you did to Sarah!" Jack shouted, stepping forward and holding his staff out menacingly.

"I would never do that again!" Pitch cried defensively, but they weren't having it. Tooth looked a little apprehensive, and even Bunny looked uncomfortable with the whole situation. Sandy looked indifferent, as he knew how important it was for people to have nightmares too, but he knew Pitch was capable of terrible things... the silent little man would have much rather just keep tabs on the Nightmare King than threaten him, but he also thought North was well within his rights to beat the living daylights out of him. Jack and North were both furious, and they were ready to take their anger out on the dark man before them.

"I was not allowed to kill you, those months ago, but there is nothing to stop me now..." the Russian hissed into Pitch's ear, and the nightmarish man felt his heart stop for a second, before a fist connected with his gut, and he hurtled backwards, landing with a smack in the middle of the road, gasping for breath. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Tooth was crying out for it to stop, and as he sat up he saw Bunny holding North back, grappling with the arm that had a sword raised up high, but Jack was there, glowering at him, and as he went to stand he saw the staff flick his way, and a burst or blue light flashed from it, and ice flew towards him, knocking him and sending him flying back. He connected with something, heard a scream and felt whatever it was tumble backwards with him, and he lay there in the road, gasping for breath and holding his stomach where a shooting pain was starting, when he heard a soft moan beside him.

Golden eyes flickered towards the sound, and they widened as he realised what he had connected with... or rather whom.

"Rebbecca," he whispered, but the girl was lying on her stomach, arms spread out and limp, and she was breathing very softly, but she looked hurt. Ignoring the pains in his stomach he rolled over and pushing himself to his knees, ignoring the guardians watching him as he touched her arm gently, assessing her for any visible injury before moving her. He knew she could have a broken limb, or internal bleeding, or brain trauma from the impact, but he needed to know she was okay, so he gently shifted her, and felt relief surge through him as she grumbled and swatted at him, groaning about some pain. He knew what she meant, and felt himself chuckle, heard it burst from his mouth, and it roused her to open her eyes.

It struck him that with her short hair, her eyes seemed all the more visible, and he gulped slightly as those hazel orbs swept over his face, and then a flicker of realisation crossed through them.

"You..." she whispered, but before either could move or even so much as say another word Pitch was being knocked back and away from her, North had him by his robe again, but his demeanour had changed. He looked less angry now, and more protective.

* * *

"Hey! Wait!" she cried, launching forward and grabbing onto the hugs man's arm, trying to pull him off the man who had saved her a week before, but he was too big and too strong.

"Sweetheart, this guy is bad news..." came a voice with an Australian accent, and Becca turned to see a huge bunny rabbit, and she nearly passed out then and there, but her shock kept her conscious. Beside this colossal rabbit hovered a woman, or a sort of woman, who had feathers covering her body. The teen could deal with the feathers, fashion was a strange thing nowadays... it was the fact that the woman was suspended off the ground, and seemed prone to flitting side to side. There was a humming sound coming from her too, and with a start Becca realised that the pinkish blur around the back of the woman was in fact her wings. She was part hummingbird, because only they were a teal coloured bird that hummed... pretty obvious.

"No, no he's not," she retorted, albeit a little delayed as she was stunned into silence temporarily. "He's helped me, let him go."

"Rebbecca, don't," the golden eyes man tried to say, but the larger man wearing the bright red coat with a sword in his hand scowled at the smaller man, and he shut up.

"Get off him!" Becca cried, her hand lashing out and she'd pinched the large man in the crook of his elbow, making him hiss and pull away, but it was effective in a sense, because he did let go of the man that had saved her.

"He is Pitch, he's not good!" the man cried with a heavy Russian accent, stowing his sword away and rubbing the spot on his inner elbow tenderly.

"Well he's been good to me, so stop being such a bully," the brunette huffed, and she turned and took hold of Pitch's wrist, shifting his hand away from his stomach, only to gape at the wound there. It wasn't too bad, but he was bleeding from a gash there, and it didn't look good. "We need to get you some help," she mumbled to him, but she saw him shaking his head and staring at the others who surrounded them both. It was then that Becca really took in their appearances.

The largest man, the Russian, had a long white beard and bright blue eyes. He was wearing a long, warm, red coat and had thick snow boots on too. Along his arms were intricate tattoos she founds herself instantly jealous of, one saying 'naughty' and one saying 'nice'. She'd already noticed the giant rabbit (something she hated already. After watching Donnie Darko she wasn't fond of a rabbit that was bigger than a football) and the human humming bird, but there was a tiny man who looked like a golden glittery Buddah, and a boy who seemed about her age, but he had shocking white hair. Something told her she knew them, something deep within her heart, but she still found herself asking them;

"Who are you?"

* * *

fuzzy = drunk

football = soccer ball

I am English...

If you need help understanding the lingo, just ask :)


	6. Chapter 6

I know it's taken a while to update, so I won't jabber on much.

Just check out my other RotG fics; **'The End Of Summer'**, **'Invisible To Him'**, **'Tricky Dreams'** and **'The Pills Don't Bring Sweet Dreams'** :) The last three are oneshots, the first is stupidly long.

And if you're reading this for the first time, you're best off reading **'Slave To Darkness'** first. It's the prequel.

* * *

The group surrounding her seemed to shift awkwardly at her question, and though she felt she knew each of them... as if from a dream, or a dream of a dream. Each face clicked into place, and she sucked in a breath before exhaling quickly, too aware that Pitch was bleeding from his side and she wanted to get him somewhere safe... away from these others.

"Pitch, come on," she muttered, turning to the taller man and looking up at him. He seemed hesitant, but after casting a quick glance around at the group he nodded slightly, his eyes cast down and his hand clamped tightly over his side where the blood was flowing from. "My house is just around the corner, I'll see what I can do there."

"Look, sweetheart, he's dangerous," the rabbit said, and she shook herself, trying to get past the mental block she had that told her rabbits really couldn't talk... and they shouldn't be taller than her either. There was so much she was being bombarded with right now, and she was barely letting it soak in. Part of her wished she hadn't been drinking. Part of her was glad she had.

"Come with us then, but I swear to God you start fighting in my house and I'll turn you into a stew."

The rabbit looked somewhat offended, but he nodded, agreeing to her terms and he even approached her and her rescuer, awkwardly slipping his arm through Pitch's and taking his weight off Becca, which she felt Pitch tense at but she was glad of. He was bloody heavy.

"Well I'm coming too then," the white haired boy muttered, clenching his jaw as he glared at Pitch, and the Russian nodded grimly. The bird woman didn't say a word, nor did the smallest man, but the teen realised that the whole group was coming too, and she sighed as she led them down the street to her house, leading them through to the back door and into the kitchen. The rabbit pulled Pitch into the kitchen and left him leaning against a counter, while Becca hung her coat up slowly and tried to make sense of the situation. It looked like some bizarre Disney film had exploded in her kitchen, and now she had to patch things up.

"Could you please go and get a chair from the dining room?" she asked the boy, and grumbled but went, and when he brought it back she gestured to Pitch and he dropped it before the man, and slowly Pitch sat down, wincing at the pain in his side.

"So... who are all of you?" Becca asked, rolling up her sleeves of her jumper and pulling some tea towels out of the draw, running hot water into the washing up bowl and turning back to them all. "See, because I feel like I know you. There's a guy in a red coat with a white beard, a woman with wings and a ridiculously tall rabbit in my kitchen, among others. I was a kid at one point... I'm thinking you're all warped versions of Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny."

"You'd be right," the teen boy remarked, smirking a little as she dipped the towel in the hot water and wrung it out, before pressing it upon Pitch's wound, shushing him as he yelped.

"I always imagined you'd look different..." she mused, cleaning the blood away before repeating the action, cleaning the wound out. "All we see in media is a fat guy in a suit. The Tooth Fairy is this tiny thing that creeps in in the night, and the Easter Bunny is... more like a bunny."

"I am a bunny," the rabbit cried dejectedly.

"Yes, but we imagine it would be more like something you keep in a hutch, not something you'd have to give your bed up for... get us the first aid kit from the top of the fridge?"

The Russian was closest, but he seemed reluctant to even help her tend to Pitch, and it took a glare from the brunette to get him to move. He sighed and moved slowly, reaching up and grabbing the green plastic box and lifting it down, handing it over to her. There was enough gauze in there to cover the wound, and plenty bandages, and as she worked at wrapping the guy up, something told her this wasn't really needed. As badly as the injury had looked five minutes ago it seemed to be healing already, the blood flow stemming itself the longer the injury was there. He was healing already, she mused, this would help him heal faster.

"Does that feel better?" she asked quietly, and she looked up into his bright eyes, aware that he nodded a little.

"Much, thank you," he replied quietly, his voice low, and he seemed very uncomfortable around the others.

She stood and looked around the kitchen, arms wrapping around herself as she took in the sight. Part of her felt elated, because Santa was stood in her kitchen, along with the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and the other two... she suspected the smaller, golden man was the Sandman. He glittered, and it was like his clothing was made of millions of grains of golden sand. The boy, the one about her age, had the palest skin, white hair and shocking blue eyes. He was wearing a hoody, and along the shoulders and pockets there seemed to be intricate fractal patterns. She felt like she knew who he was, but didn't know how to voice it.

"Do you all want to introduce yourselves? And I'll... I'll get the kettle on," she suggested, reaching for the kettle and walking to the sink, filling it up with water before putting it back down on the stand and flicking it on.

"I'm Toothiana," the fairy spoke up first, hovering near Becca and smiling slightly. "Everyone calls me Tooth."

"Tooth, the Tooth Fairy," Becca chuckled, grabbing seven cups from the cupboard before stopping and turning back to the group. "How many for a brew?"

Six hands went up slowly, and she nodded, turning back to the cups and lining them up.

"So what about you Santa, what's your name?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"North. Nicholas St North," he replied gruffly, but he smiled a little nonetheless, and she didn't even have to ask the rabbit before he spoke.

"E. Aster Bunnymund, but everyone calls me Bunny," he said, his voice rather chipper considering he was still in the same room as someone he obviously detested. She turned her head to the boy then, and he nodded slightly at her, a small smile on his face.

"Jack Frost," he introduced himself, extending a hand to shake hers, and she accepted it warmly. "And this is Sandy," he added, gesturing to the smallest man. "He doesn't talk."

"It's nice to meet you," she smiled, and out of thin air he conjured a golden bowler hat and raised it for her, smiling.

It turned out Tooth and Pitch wanted tea, both without sugar, although the teenage girl saw the fairy slip a sweetener into her drink before sipping it quickly. Bunny and Jack took coffee with milk and two sugars like Becca did, whereas Sandy had only one sugar. North was the one that made her laugh most. He had coffee with no sugar, no milk, but a generous shot of vodka, the Smirnoff she found in the fridge. He laughed as he accepted his drink, gulping it down, and the room lapsed into silence as everybody drank from their mugs. It felt very awkward, and Becca felt as if she could cut through the tension with a knife.

"So I take it you lot don't like him?" she spoke after a moment of tense silence, nodding towards Pitch who was still sat in the chair. "I even get the funny feeling that you don't normally stay in one room together this long... I have images of you punching him," she finished, looking at North. What she saw flash in his eyes made her wonder. It was a mix of anger, and desperation, guilt, misery... and loss. The man, North, had suffered something great - she could tell - and her initial instinct was to stand and hug him, but she held herself back. The second thing she felt was the need to cry. The hurt she saw in his eyes was just so raw and vivid that she wanted to cry for him. The idea of Santa Clause, in any shape or form, feeling this kind of internal pain made her heart ache for him.

"He is... evil," North said quietly, and every eye in the room turned to look at the man in the chair, who refused to meet the six pairs of eyes cast his way.

"I... he saved me from being raped," Becca whispered, and the room froze. She could feel every pair of eyes snap back to her, and she looked around at the expressions of the five beings stood around... each displayed shock and confusion, and she felt very self conscious and looked to Pitch, who looked quickly from her to the floor. "A week ago..."

The silence was deafening. It was as if she couldn't hear anything, and Becca gulped nervously as she looked around. There was shock displayed on each and every face, and she could see Pitch had clamped his eyes shut, and the look on his face was that of a person who sincerely wished they weren't there when they were.

Becca was more aware of North shifting, and she turned to look at him and saw he was fuming. He was obviously angry, his huge body trembling with fury that he was trying his damned hardest to keep in, but he couldn't. His vivid blue eyes were shut tight, and he shook his head slightly.

"You saved her?" he growled, and the teenage girl tensed up, as did everyone else in the room. "But you- svoloch'!" he cried, pushing roughly past Bunny, who yelped before diving on North, grappling with him to stop him pulling his sword out. The kitchen was tiny, and if he unsheathed his weapon then there was a likelihood that he'd cut through the cabinets too, and she highly doubted her dad would appreciate that.

So she didn't really think when she jumped forward, or when she raised her arm, or when she swung it around and slapped the older man across the face. The shock of being slapped stopped him struggling to get to Pitch, who in the fray had managed to get up from the chair and back against the wall, eyes wide. Becca felt her heart pounding in her chest, her mind was racing. Did she really just slap Santa Clause? North looked down at her, confusion and irritation etched into his eyes, and she glared back up at him defiantly.

"How _dare_ you attack somebody in my home. I don't know what's happened between you all, and to be frank I don't think I want to. But you do _not_ come into my house and try to attack anybody, no matter what the circumstance. Now _get out_!"

Nobody moved, but she felt the need to prove her point, so she grabbed the older man's arm and steered him towards the back door, gesturing for him to leave. He cast her one last, reproachful look, but he left without a word, and she turned to the other five who were watching in surprise.

"I'm really sorry, but I'll have to ask you all to leave... but Pitch, I want you to stay here until I know you're better."

"I'm not leaving if he's not," Jack spat, but the girl glared at him, and he shrank back under her gaze and grumbled as he shot off through the door. The other three bid their goodbyes, Bunny nodding his head to her, Tooth patting her on the shoulder and Sandy was perhaps the cutest, creating his bowler hat out of his golden sand and tipping it to her again, a small smile on his face.

She shut the door after them, sighing and pressing her forehead against it, trying to find the words. It was a small cough that made her turn around and look at Pitch.

"I should go, really," he said quietly, and though she wanted to argue she knew nothing would work, so she merely shrugged.

"You don't have to," she offered, walking back into the kitchen from the back room and pushing herself up to sit on the kitchen counter. Pitch smiled a little, shaking his head and looking down at the floor.

"No... I really do," he said quietly. He looked at her then, his bright eyes fixed on hers, and she found her breath hitched in her throat as he stared at her, it was like he was reading her soul. "You probably won't see me again... they're right you know, I am evil."

And with that he was gone.

* * *

svoloch = bastard in Russian. I think.


	7. Chapter 7

I know it's been a while since I updated. Ah well :)

Iffins ya please, could you check out my other fics. There's loads for RotG, but my longest is 'The End Of Summer', which I'm nearly finished with, and my newest is 'There Was A Mrs Clause'.

I'd appreciate it :)

But here you go, and enjoy!

* * *

"Becca, I think you're just stressed lately. I mean, I was open to the idea of there being some vigilante out there who saved you, but you just told me that Santa was in your kitchen last night."

"And I slapped him..." the brunette added, running her fingers through her short hair, still getting used to it.

"And you slapped him, which in my opinion will only earn you a place on the naughty list."

"Jess, don't make jokes, I'm deadly serious!" Becca snapped, throwing her pen across the computer bay at her best friend, who caught it and stuck her tongue out. They were meant to be researching Blake's poems, but they'd managed to steer the conversation towards the random goings on lately.

"Look, all I'm saying is you were attacked. The guy might not have been able to... you know, rape you... but he still attacked you. You said he had you pinned against a wall by your neck and he had a knife to you too. That's going to be traumatising in itself."

"It really wasn't-"

"Bullshit," Jess spat, rolling her eyes. "I know you're trying to be brave about it, but you went through an attack, police interrogation and then these hallucinations... which may or may not be hallucinations, but either way it's going to be stressful."

The brunette looked at her blond friend, stumped. Since the attack the other week, since meeting Pitch and having everything tossed up in the air, she'd been so focused on just getting everything on track that she'd plunged in head first, not thinking about the fact that she was still torn up inside. She knew she was, she had since it happened, but she'd been intent on not thinking about it, and just getting on with stuff to try and quash the feeling. It didn't work like that though, and she felt her stomach twisting as everything set in.

"Oh fuck off Jess," she choked, grabbing her satchel from the floor and standing, storming from the IT suite and pelting down the halls. She'd managed a week of repressing her feelings but now because of a simple analysis from her stupid friend who took stupid psychology she was in tears. She took the stairs and jumped the last five when she got to them, walking outside into the cold and setting off down the path out of college. She was only mildly aware of the clouds gathering up above her, how black the looked and how in her rush she'd left her coat behind. It was when she'd left the premises and was half way down the street that the rain fell in bucket loads, sudden and heavy and she stood still for a moment, sighing.

She was soaked through in seconds, but she didn't want to go back and she carried on, walking slowly to the bus stop, head down, crying as she went. Her tears mingled in the rain, and she was glad of it because as long as she stayed out from under shelter, nobody would know. She stayed quiet, her chest heaving as she tried to repress sobs, her throat stinging with the lump she kept swallowing.

Eventually she managed to get on the bus, and within the hour she was home. Her dad wasn't in yet, so as she walked upstairs she peeled her soaking clothing off, stripping naked as she walked. She dropped her jeans at the top of the stairs and dropped her clothing in a pile on the carpet, left only in her underwear.

She didn't care as she slouched into the bathroom and filled the tub up with scalding hot water, and she slipped into the bath, hissing at the heat. She just sat there in the water, letting the hot water burn the grime of the day off her, laying there looking at the light on the ceiling, wondering why she'd not bothered to address the hurt inside her.

She wondered if it was because she didn't want to feel like a victim, didn't want to feel like she was weak because she'd let her guard down and hadn't been able to defend herself from the man who attacked her. She wondered if she were making too big a deal of it now she'd come to recognise what she was feeling, and if she had a right to be so upset when she'd only been threatened and not actually physically hurt in any way. The brunette knew there was emotional damage there, she was a self aware person (normally) and she was able to tell when something wasn't right with herself. She knew there was damage... she just didn't feel like it was justified.

She's managed to get out of it. She'd been saved and there were people world over who weren't and who had so much worse done to them.

She lay there in the bath tub until the water was cold, and with a sigh she climbed out. Her dad had gotten home not long ago, so as she turned to go into her room she shouted down to him.

"I'm not hungry tonight dad, I'm just going to bed instead."

"Already?" he called, coming to the bottom of the stairs with a brew in his hand. She clutched her bath towel tighter around her but it wasn't like she wasn't covered, so she shrugged at him.

"Yeah, I'm just really tired," she said meekly, and though he didn't seem convinced he nodded to her and walked back into the living room, and Becca trudged into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her, pulling on some pyjamas and climbing into bed.

* * *

He felt increasingly uneasy about the way he'd left her, and he didn't know why he was so fixated on this one girl, because there were many girls worldwide now he'd managed to save from rape and other tortures.

He didn't know why he felt so drawn to her, but when she looked at him with those hazel green eyes he couldn't help but want to protect her. It was so against who had was and who he had been, and it was completely contrary to his character... but he wanted to make sure she was safe, and he found himself slipping through shadows and appearing in the corner of her room, between the door and the computer desk, looking at her sleeping in the bed in the opposite corner.

She was fast asleep, curled up under her blankets facing him, her eyelids fluttering slightly as she dreamed, and her lips twitching as she formed words in his sleep, speaking to whomever she was dreaming about.

But then her expression changed, her brows knitted together, her eyes scrunched up tighter and a frown crossed over her lips. Her could see her hands ball into fists, and slowly he walked over to her bedside, looking down as she slipped into the grasp of a nightmare... but it wasn't one of his.

There was no dream sand and no shadows plaguing her. This nightmare was a product of some darkness inside her, and with a small sigh he recognised the fear she was holding so tight to her chest, the terrible thoughts she'd kept locked in her mind which even in such a short space of time had festered and grown and were now corrupting her mind.

He leaned over her, reaching out slowly with his long fingers and he hesitated just centimetres from her face. The Nightmare King didn't know what was wrong with him... he'd never had an issue touching anyone before, but there was something in the back of his mind telling him that he was capable of hurting people, and it was expected of him now due to his past... and Pitch knew he didn't want to hurt this girl, he'd made the decision to use his powers for the better, and he would.

So gently he trailed his fingers over her cheek, and her frown softened a bit, her brows relaxed. As his fingers brushed upwards against her face her body relaxed. And when he had reached her forehead and could sense the fear there causing the nightmare, he did his best to draw it out, or as much of it as possible so she could rest easy.

"Since when did you care about taking care of girls?" came a voice from the door, and he whirled around to see Tooth stood there, her hands clasped in front of her, her mauve eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I hate who I am," he replied simply, his voice hushed and soft so he didn't wake Becca up. "I don't want to be like this any more, so I'm trying to do better things. I don't expect your understanding and acceptance."

"We'll never accept you," the fairy said, her voice low and her normal gentle tones evaporated. "Not after what you've done. And we won't leave you alone with her, ever. Someone will always be close by her... but I... I hope you can be better. You should be."

Pitch merely nodded at the feathered woman, and he disappeared into shadows, leaving the fairy alone in the room with the sleeping girl. Quietly Tooth crept over, and she looked over the now peaceful face of the sleeping girl. She wasn't having dreams, but she'd watched as Pitch had taken away the nightmares and in some deep recess of her mind she did genuinely think he wanted to change.

Her fingers brushed over the same spot on the girls' forehead that Pitch had touched not minutes before. She could sense a trauma in the girl, and she wondered if being around Pitch would help...

That man was traumatised too... could they possibly fix one another?


	8. Chapter 8

I figured I'd be updating this once a week at the very least, cos then I have time to work on the chapters. It'll probably be every Saturday night/Sunday morning too. So tune in! :D

Hope you enjoy. I'll have more time to focus on this anyways, I've finished 'The End Of Summer' at a whopping 75 chapters, so I have a whole load of spare time on my hands that I have no idea what to do with. I'll write more xD

Ta-ta!

* * *

"I don't like this," North grumbled, sitting in his chair and staring into the fire.

"Mate, he helped her... I dunno, maybe he's changing?" Bunny said quietly, but shut up again when the Russian glared at him.

"I don't care, he's evil," he spat, and his thoughts went to his daughter Sarah, who a year ago was murdered by the bastard, after he'd tortured and abused her for years. He knew he was partially to blame, because for years she'd been sinking deeper and deeper into a depression, but because he'd always been busy with other things he'd never actually gotten to sit down with her and ask her what had happened. Now this other girl, Rebbecca, had Pitch hanging over her like the shadow he was, and deep down North was scared for her. He knew what the Nightmare King was capable of, and he didn't want the girl to suffer by his hand either.

"North," came a soft voice, and he turned his head to see Tooth by the door. "I need to tell you something."

"What's happened?" he asked, feeling panic-stricken as she wrung her hands, worried Pitch had already done something in the time the girl had sent them from her home.

"Nothing bad," she cried when she saw his horrified look. "He's... I think he is changing."

She explained to them how she'd gotten into the house and crept into Becca's room in time to see Pitch taking away her nightmares. He knew he was loathed by them, and she explained how she told him they wouldn't accept him, but would appreciate it if he could change.

"I think he could, North, something about that girl triggered something in him."

"Bah," the Russian scoffed, heaving himself up from his chair. He ignored the other Guardians as he walked from the room, leaving them all calling after him as he walked down the corridor to the room he'd not been in in months.

And when he pushed the door open, he felt an overwhelming sadness wash over him, and slowly he walked through the door and sat quietly on Sarah's bed, glancing around before reaching out and picking up an old teddy bear. She'd had it since birth, and no matter how many times he joked about her being too old for it, she'd never let it go. Her mother had made it for her whilst pregnant, and he didn't know how but Sarah had always said she felt close to the woman she'd never met.

He'd not been able to save his daughter, and he looked up at the bedside table where there was a picture of him and Sarah when she was a little girl. Nine years old, sat in his lap beaming up at the camera on Christmas day. Her eyes were sparkling, and she was grinning toothily. He saw the gap where she'd lost a Tooth, and smiled fondly as he remembered how excited she got knowing Tooth was coming to visit.

He'd stopped making happy memories with her when she turned sixteen, when her being a teenager made her moody and secluded, and then at seventeen the terror with Pitch started.

If the man was changing, then that was good. But no matter what he did, he'd never forgive him for what he'd done to his daughter. He'd sooner throttle the man, and that could be arranged quite easily.

North closed his eyes for a moment, pictured the girl who Pitch had crashed into on the street and wondered if she knew about his dark past and many secrets, and how much terror he was capable of causing to people...

* * *

She'd started smoking months ago, but it wasn't an everyday thing for her. She found that the odd one every now and then helped calm her nerves, or gave her something to do when she was bored. It had been a week since she'd walked out of college, and since then she'd just not been back. She ignored calls from the tutors, deleted e-mails and didn't reply to texts from her friends. Jess was getting especially pissed off with her now, and she knew because after six days of relentless texting she'd just stopped.

She'd been given the cold shoulder before and if she showed signs of life tomorrow then she'd be forgiven. But over the past week everything seemed to have exploded within her. At first she cried for days in her bed, trudging around the house to find food and drink copious amounts of coffee, and from there it spiralled deeper into depression and at such a quick pace that she felt like she'd hit rock bottom with a smack. Then it was an effort to get out of bed. It took her hours to just open her eyes, and her mind would be screaming at her to do something, but she felt so apathetic she just couldn't.

She hadn't eaten, she hadn't talked to anyone. She merely sat in bed staring at the picture of dolphins jumping from the ocean on the wall opposite to her. And then she felt the overwhelming need to smoke and for the first time in days she dragged herself from her blanket to do something other than use the bathroom.

Trudging downstairs, she pulled the packet of cigarettes from her bag along with the blue lighter she was so fond of, and let herself out the door to smoke on the porch. The sky was clear that night, the moon shining brightly above her, but she couldn't see the stars because of the god damn light pollution.

Sitting on the cold concrete, she pulled a thin white stick from the pack and lit it, inhaling the smoke and sighing slightly. Stirling cigarettes were her favourite, especially the menthol ones. They didn't taste at all like mint, but she preferred them to the other brands.

"You look like hell," came a voice, and she glanced sideways to see Pitch stood over her, concern flickering in his eyes.

"Sounds about right," she huffed, turning back to look up at the moon as he took a seat beside her, his hands clasped in front of him.

"How have you been?" he asked quietly, and she felt herself relax slightly, his voice was smooth and calming, oddly enough.

"I feel like I've been through hell," she whispered, inhaling more smoke and breathing it out again, watching as it fogged the air in front of them both before dissipating.

"Explains a lot then," he mused, before wrinkling his nose. "When did you last bathe?"

"Does it matter?" she spat, flicking the ash from the end of the cigarette. "Why do you even care anyway? From what North made out you're supposed to be a bit of a dick."

"I am," he agreed, running his fingers through her hair. "And I don't know why I care. I really don't. I think it's because you can see me."

"Am I not supposed to? I can go to ignoring you if you prefer."

"Is that what you want?" he asked her, turning his head to look at her properly. Her short hair had been scraped back with a headband, she was wearing baggy black pyjamas that she'd had on for who knew how long, and a white dressing gown with coffee stains all over the sleeves. She looked like someone who'd given up, and her eyes told as much. The usual bright hazel seemed dull and sad, and he wanted to reach out to her but held back. If one of the Guardians were watching they'd misinterpret it. So instead he watched as she mulled over his question, as her lips tugged downwards and suddenly she was crying, her cigarette flung to the side and forgotten as she pressed her face into his shoulder, sobbing loudly.

And he wrapped his arms around her, held her close and hushed her, glancing around to see vibrant eyes leering at him out of the darkness. He couldn't care less, he thought to himself, stroking her back in an attempt to calm her. But she carried on crying into his shoulder, and he sat there patiently with her while she let it all out, whispering how filthy she felt, and used and uncomfortable. How she really didn't like being outside, even though she'd carried on as normal for a week, this week everything just surfaced and she couldn't cope.

"He didn't even hurt me," she choked, turning her head slightly, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from all her tears. "He didn't manage to do anything, but I feel horrible."

"It doesn't matter what he did or didn't do, he had the intent, had you pressed against a wall, and had a knife to your throat. That experience and the knowledge of what he would have done is enough to scar anyone."

"It hurts inside," she moaned, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can feel it all aching, and I don't know what to do."

"We're going inside. What you need to do is go inside, get some sleep, get a bath in the morning and I'll come back, and we'll fix this," Pitch promised her, standing up and pulling her up with him, pausing as she circled her arms around his torso and pressed her face into his chest.

"Promise?" she whispered, and he could feel her fear radiating from her, but he tried to ignore it.

"I promise."

He pushed the door open and took her inside, locking it behind them before steering her upstairs. It took him a moment to pick his way through her room, scraps of paper left on the floor along with mounds of clothing that needed to be put away. He gave her a nudge towards the bed and watched as she threw herself onto it face first, smiling slightly to himself as she bounced clear off the mattress and then landed back on it again, huffing.

He pulled the cover over her and sat in the desk chair, watching her as she watched him. But she was tired after crying, struggling to keep her eyes open, and soon they closed and she went to sleep. Pitch continued to wait, and as soon as he felt that dark cloud descend on her he stepped in, removing her nightmares yet again, but noticing briefly how they seemed stronger than before, and it took more effort to take them away.

Pitch knew that Bunny was waiting outside for him, and as he melted into the shadows, he resurfaced outside again, and stared directly into those green eyes.

"So what happened in there?" the Pooka asked, crossing his arms, looked extremely stern.

"She's depressed, she's scared, she's not taking care of herself," Pitch listed, folding his own arms. "I told her to sleep, to get a bath in the morning, and I'd come back to check on her. She trusts me."

"Yeah, but you can understand that we kind of don't," Bunny told him, but his eyes softened a little, he looked less sceptical. "Are you really changing?"

"Trying to."

"Right... well look, North wants you at the Pole," Bunny started, but when he saw how stricken Pitch looked he held his hands up in defence. "He's not gonna beat the daylights out of you. Not this time. He's just worried about the whole situation. He doesn't like it."

Pitch could feel his heart pounding against his chest, but gulped slightly and tried to regain his composure.

"I suppose I can go there if he just needs to talk..."


End file.
